Can't You See I Want You (By The Way I Push You Away)
by doe-eyed-girly-evil
Summary: "Don't look at me like that. Not unless you plan on doing something about it... for once." ( One-Shot, Post 2x23)


Hey, everyone! This has been bouncing around in my head for a while and is basically just an amalgamation of all the tidbits and spoilers we've been getting about Season 3 so far, and my imagination running away with me about how it could potentially shake out.

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"_So... Felicity, look, I... I mean we should maybe... you should know that I... do you like food? We should have food... together."_

_Diggle's expression grew increasingly ironic the more Oliver talked._

"_Are you trying to convince her to date you or, you know, _not _to date you? Because honestly, I can see it going either way."_

"_Your negativity isn't helping, Digg," Oliver offered sulkily._

"_I'm beginning to think you're beyond help here, man."_

"_What if this is a bad idea?"_

_Diggle uncrossed his arms and placed a reassuring hand on Oliver's shoulder._

"_She's going to say yes, Oliver."_

"_How can you be sure?"_

"_I know how she feels about you. _You_ know how she feels about you. Despite the fact that you've been a total moron about it."_

"_I've hurt her, haven't I?"_

"_Not intentionally. She knows that."_

"_But –"_

"_Oliver, are you going to go ask that girl out or am I going to have to drag your ass out the door?"_

_Oliver nodded resolutely. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an earring. Her earring. He had found it fallen on the ground in the new lair. It was from the same pair she wore the night Slade attacked. The same pair he found burned into his memory, dangling frighteningly close to Slade's sword as he held it to her throat._

_..._

"Oliver?"

Gentle hands were shaking his shoulders.

"Oliver! Wake up."

He jolted upright from the floor, breathing heavily, grabbing onto the hands that shook him by the wrists. A familiar pair of eyes greeted him, filled with worry. He looked around, taking in the surroundings, remembering that he was in Felicity's bedroom.

"You hit me," he said matter of factly.

"You're bleeding," she replied, glancing at his temple.

"You hit me... with a frying pan."

"It was the closest thing to a weapon I could find on short notice," she said sheepishly.

"And surprisingly effective," he mumbled, wincing at the slight headache that thrummed incessantly.

"Well, that'll teach you to go around climbing through people's windows. I thought you were some creep breaking in."

"I saw your window open and thought maybe some creep _had_ broken in. I thought we agreed that you'd keep windows locked at all times?"

"Uhh, Oliver? You're kind of gripping me."

He dropped her wrists immediately.

"Sorry. Reflex. How long was I out cold?"

"Barely a minute or two. You'll live, but I should probably get you a band aid."

She clambered up off the floor and rummaged around her dresser as Oliver stood and perched himself on her bed. She held up a small colourful box.

"Hearts, butterflies or cupcakes?" she inquired.

"Excuse me?"

"Hearts it is," she stated with finality before pulling out a violently pink band aid covered in hearts.

Oliver could scarcely protest before she had dabbed at the small wound on his temple with a cotton ball and stuck the band aid on with an air of satisfaction.

"Looks good on you," she mocked.

"Oh, I'm sure," he laughed. "Speaking of looking good..."

"What?"

"Nice outfit," he offered, looking her up and down.

The pajamas she wore were made of a satiny silky looking material, but it was the color that had attracted his attention. A deep forest green.

She followed his gaze and an uncharacteristic crinkle appeared between her brows, her eyes narrowing slightly. She was annoyed. He could tell. He could do nothing with his face, however, other than keep grinning. _Grinning_. Not smirking. Not smiling. Not anything remotely befitting the suave nonchalance he aimed to portray.

"Wait, you think that I dressed for bed thinking of you..." she trailed away and squeezed her eyes shut in _that _way, par for the course when the inadvertently inappropriate escaped her. "_Three, two, one_ – I know this may be hard to believe given the circumstances, but I got these PJs before we even met. So, try not to look like one of those toddlers who spent their lives playing with designer toys until they discover that a cardboard box is more entertaining, and all it needed was a nice green ribbon to spruce it up."

She fell silent abruptly, apparently realizing that she had let slip much more than intended. It was Oliver's turn to crinkle his brow. If he had followed the general direction of her toddler with a box analogy, he had more to make up for than he imagined.

"I just meant," he added lamely, jaw clenched. "That you look nice."

"Oh. Well, thanks, I guess. I'm not even sure I _want_ to look nice in these. They were a birthday present from – it doesn't matter."

Oliver found it physically stressful to prevent his mind from wandering to who might have gifted her with something as indulgent – and by the looks of it, expensive – as silk pajamas. It was irrational, of course. Blood pounded in his ears at the thought of some faceless, handsome figure, undoubtedly smirking as he handed over the undoubtedly over-wrapped, over-ribboned monstrosity of a present before having the audacity to break her heart enough that she resented looking beautiful in it.

"Oliver? You okay? You're doing that square jawed clench of doom thing."

He shook his head slightly to clear it. He was being ridiculous. The pajamas were probably from an aunt or cousin she hated. Probably.

"Oliver!"

He jumped, "Huh?"

"I must have hit you harder than I thought," she said, her voice suddenly awash with concern, a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You look a bit green. I mean, not that people can be _literally_ green, but as far as the greenish spectrum goes, you're starting to match my outfit. Do you have a concussion? How do you even check for a concussion? I should call Digg to come check for a concussion."

"I don't have a concussion," he replied, standing quickly, grabbing her arm to stop her from walking away.

She looked at him oddly before peering down at his hand on her arm. It was several moments of standing, a little too close to bear, breathing the only sound to be heard, before he realized that he was gripping her a little too tightly yet again. He released her arm abruptly, but she made no move to back away. She simply continued to peer at him, curiosity and confusion seeming to cloud her features. Slowly, she lifted her hand to lightly caress his temple. He could no longer hear the sound of his own breathing because in that moment he did very little of it.

"You know, sometimes I wonder," she said, her voice barely audible. "Whether you act so damn unreadable just to annoy the crap out of me or whether you're just...afraid."

"And have you reached a consensus?" he whispered, not trusting himself to move.

"I'm getting there."

"Felicity –"

"Hot chocolate!" she exclaimed loudly, jumping away from him.

"What?"

"I'm all out of coffee, but I make a mean cup of hot chocolate," she continued, backing steadily towards the bedroom door. "Want some?"

She didn't wait for his reply before making an impressively quick exit, her voice trailing off into the other room. Oliver stood alone, bewildered and unsure of what had just transpired. He chanced a glance around her room, a smile forcing its way onto his lips.

There was no particular sign of personalization evident in the decor of the room. No pictures on the wall, which was a neutral cream. The sheets on her bed were clearly bought without much thought in mind – plain and generic. The furniture was functional and to the point. Yet there was no mistaking to whom the room belonged. Hints of Felicity lay cluttered in organized chaos at regular intervals all around the otherwise untouched space. Wires criss-crossed the floor as they charged an unsurprising amount of gadgetry. The closet was filled with seemingly nothing but pajamas, pencil skirts and dresses. A small dressing table overflowed with an array of lipsticks along with two identical perfume bottles – one brand new and the other almost empty.

Oliver's eyes finally landed on an earring stand of some sort. It resembled a small tree with each branch holding onto a pair of earrings, all of which dangled slightly and glinted in the lamp-light. He let his fingers brush the jewellery, surprised at how familiar they all looked to him. They emitted a soft chime as they moved under his hands, until he reached the odd one out. Where there should have been a matching set, hung just one earring. One he recognized better than the many others. He reached into his pocket to retrieve its other half, and careful not to disturb the precarious balance of the...earring tree thing...he hung the dangly, circular piece of metal where it belonged.

"You haven't, like, collapsed in there or anything have you, Oliver?" Felicity's voice carried down the small hallway outside the room. "If you're gonna be unconscious again, I'd rather you did it somewhere I won't have to pay to get the bloodstains out of the carpet."

"I'm fine," he shouted back. "I was just..."

Unable to think of a way to articulate what he was just doing without sounding intensely creepy, Oliver opted to let his explanation trail away as he followed the familiar scent of chocolate and made the short walk into the living room and kitchen area. He smiled as he stood to watch her stirring the contents of a small pan on the fire with all the concentration of a professional chemist. Perching himself on the barstool at the kitchen counter, he continued to watch the apparently meticulous process of Felicity making – or perhaps brewing was the more accurate term – hot chocolate. It was several more minutes before she was sliding a large mug of the stuff across the counter and into his grasp. He held it, letting the heat of the mug warm his hands, and looked up to see her chewing her lip nervously, her eyes flitting between Oliver's face and her own hands which she drummed on the counter ceaselessly. He took a breath, reached across, and placed his hand gently over hers.

"Felicity – "

She yanked her hand away as though shocked and proceeded to busy herself with washing the few dishes that lay unattended in the sink.

"Felicity?" he repeated, but she had let the tap run at its loudest and pretended not to have heard him.

He stood, approached the sink and slowly reached around her to turn the tap off. He saw her shoulders rise and slump as she sighed audibly, before turning to face him within the limited space between him and the sink. He placed both hands on the counter on either side of her, effectively encircling her in his arms without actually touching her. He glanced down at her, surprised to find her frowning.

"Don't," she said in an unusually clipped tone. "Just... do _not_."

"Don't what?" he asked, confused.

"Don't _look_ at me like that. Not unless you plan on doing something about it... for once."

Purely on instinct he felt himself leaning in until his forehead lightly touched hers. He felt her go completely still as her eyes fluttered shut.

"We need to talk," he whispered.

Her eyes snapped open and she managed to push at his chest, ducking under his arm to get away from him.

"You know what, _no_," she declared forcefully, now a good foot away from him.

"No?"

"No," she repeated. "We talk too much. All we ever do is talk. All _you_ ever do is talk, and _look_ at me, and _touch_ me, and I'm tired, Oliver. So, no. For once in my life, I don't want to talk."

"I meant it," he blurted gracelessly, panic beginning to set in. "What I said, I meant it."

She crossed her arms, looking sceptical.

"You say a lot of things. Care to narrow it down?"

Taking it as a good sign that she hadn't walked away, he took a step towards her.

"What I said... at the mansion."

He was there. The point of no return. There were a number of scenarios he had run through in his head, most of which involved a shocked and surprised, but hopefully happy Felicity. Nothing could have prepared him for the words that followed, nor the casual nature in which they came out of her mouth.

"Umm, Oliver?" she intoned, as though dealing with a particularly obtuse child. "I know."

He blinked, feeling every bit as obtuse as her tone implied. It was a long moment before he could speak again.

"You... you _know_?" he repeated lamely.

She nodded. He noticed that her expression had softened considerably. He got the distinct impression that she was trying not to laugh.

"How?"

"You're one of the worst liars I've ever met. I figured you can't have gotten that good overnight."

"Oh," he stated.

"Wow, I'm rubbing off on you," she said quietly with a hint of a smile.

"And on the island, when we talked –"

"I thought you wanted an out, so I gave it to you."

"I didn't ask for an out," he said quickly.

"You didn't have to," she shrugged. "Like I said, for a man of mystery, you're not exactly hard to read."

"I thought you said I was unreadable?"

"I said you _act_ unreadable."

"So, you've known this whole time?"

"Yeeup," she replied, popping the 'p' at the end.

"But you're... upset?"

She let out a pointedly humorless laugh.

"No, Oliver, I'm not upset. I'm _furious_."

"I don't – "

"Rejection isn't exactly new for me, Oliver. I can handle rejection. I'm prepared for rejection. Rejection lets me indulge in obscene amounts of ice cream, but _this_? I don't know what to do with this. Whatever _this _is."

"Felicity..."

"You _know_ how I feel about you," she offered, a hint of tears in her voice. "You _knew_, you always knew – don't pretend that you didn't. You tell me you can't be with me because you care too much, and a minute later you're with Sara who, correct me if I'm wrong, you also care about. But, hey, I could deal with that, too. I just figured you thought she was different because she could take care of herself and kick ass and stuff. She was strong. I was weak. I understood. And then – _then_ – you go and put me in danger. You, Mr I Can't Be With You It's Too Dangerous, go and offer me up as bait to take down your psycho ex-boyfriend from fantasy island. Only, you can't do it the normal way. You have to drag me to your creepy abandoned horror house to put on a show, and tell me that you...well, you know what you said, and you have the nerve not only to _say_ that to me with a straight face, but the nerve to actually _mean_ it. And now you're here being all... whatever it is you're being right now and I mean, what _is_ that? I just, ughhh, _God_, Oliver, do something!"

During her soliloquy she had grown progressively more animated and paced her way back to within inches of where Oliver was standing. He tilted his head and couldn't help but smile.

"I'm curious," he wondered, his voice low. "What is it you'd like me to do?"

With each word he took a step forward as she took a step back until she hit the counter and he put his arms on either side of her, once again standing exactly as they had before.

"I mean, it sounds like you have something in mind," he continued. "So, tell me what you think I should be doing. _Specifically_."

He grinned slightly as a rush of color filled her cheeks and she refused to look at him as she spoke.

"I don't exactly have a lot of dignity left," she mumbled. "But I do have just enough that I really do not want to have to tell you what to do."

He put a hand under her chin and tilted her head up, willing her to look at him.

"Then maybe you can guess what _I _want to do. You can read my mind, right?"

"That would require me to get inside your head, and I can't do that any more than you can get inside me and..."

He let out a genuine laugh as she fell silent, her lips quirking to the side and eyes squeezing shut. He leaned his forehead against hers again, but this time stayed that way as she gathered herself from her latest gaffe.

"Yep," she whispered. "There goes what's left of that dignity I was talking about."

Oliver pulled back and placed a hand on her cheek. An involuntary sound escaped her as she leaned into his hand, a wonderfully serene smile coloring her features.

"So," he said, rubbing his thumb lightly across her skin. "Dinner."

"We like dinner," she replied, still smiling.

"We do," he continued. "Do we like dinner enough to have it together, maybe? Tomorrow night?"

"I don't know. My boss is kind of a slave driver. Makes me work crazy hours. And now he's broke, so I'm not even getting paid."

"Sounds like a jackass, this boss of yours."

"A little, but he's pretty enough to make up for it."

The laugh that had bubbled up, died in Oliver's throat as the front door flew open with an almighty crash giving him just enough time to pull Felicity down onto the floor and out of whatever harm was approaching.

"Felicity," he whispered, placing a hand over his lips, indicating for her to stay silent.

He awaited the nearing footsteps in a defensive crouch and sprung from behind the counter ready to attack the intruder only to find a familiar face pointing a gun at him.

"Digg?"

"Oliver?"

Diggle lowered the gun as Felicity emerged from her hiding place looking dazed. She glanced at the front door which bore a surprising lack of damage from having been kicked in.

"You two really need to learn how to knock," she said wearily.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver directed at an equally bewildered Diggle.

"I was on the phone with Felicity when she told me she heard a noise and then the phone went dead," he replied. "I thought maybe something happened, so I got here as soon as I could."

At this pronouncement Felicity walked over to Diggle and enveloped him in a warm hug.

"You're both idiots."

Diggle raised a curious eyebrow at Oliver over her shoulder. Oliver smiled and shrugged in response.

"Anyone care to explain what's going on?" Diggle asked.

"How about we explain over burgers?" Felicity suggested, heading for the couch and grabbing her coat which lay draped over the side of it. "I'm starving."

"You're in your pajamas," Oliver offered, tentatively.

"I thought you said I look good in them."

Diggle raised another curious eyebrow at this statement and Oliver began to see the merits of leaving immediately for burgers.

"So, the noise you heard was Oliver breaking in, I take it," Diggle wondered.

"The first noise was Oliver breaking in," replied Felicity. "The second noise was Oliver hitting the floor after I hit him with a frying pan."

She smiled happily to herself as she bent down to pick up the shoes that lay by her door.

"Perfect timing, by the way," Oliver muttered to Diggle under his breath as Felicity pulled on her sneakers.

"Always, man," Diggle replied, clapping Oliver on the back as they followed Felicity out the door.

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Thank you in advance and a big hug to anyone who takes the time to comment! :)


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